‘Red sky in the morning, shepherd’s warning’ – that old saying is so true. A couple of hours after this sunup, storm Darragh barrelled in, and its force felled a few more trees. Such is life by the sea, nothing to do other than wait it out and then clear the debris.

When Darragh had blown itself out, tranquillity returned and look what we found sheltering under a berberis, a jolly bright yellow daffodil. It is about ten weeks early but there is no doubting it, and many more followed for Christmas from those sprouting shoots.

Christmas was calm and, as ever, all the seaside gear had been neatly stowed waiting for the spring. It is now that quiet post festival time to think about plans for 2025. More writing and a new book; travelling around Europe to see its magnificent medieval cathedrals; and just enjoying the seaside garden and planting the new veggie terraces.

And my bucket list is one item shorter. Been to Lourdes. After more than fifty years of resenting not being included in the school trip, I got the Bernadette snow globe at last, and all is well.

Best Wishes to you All for 2025

An afternoon walk along the old Tudor harbour wall to see the sun fade is such a treat at this time of year. It clears the head when writer’s fog and procrastination set in. It is cold now and very quiet as the visitors have gone so we have the place and the sea to ourselves.

But that tranquillity is disrupted from time to time when the sea rises in a ferocious storm like ‘Bert’ that slammed in 24 hours later. Gale force winds, continuous drenching rain and the howling noises of the storm persisted for a couple of days. Debris and flooding are everywhere. All you can do is hunker down and wait for it to pass.

After the storm, calm returns and the lower garden is bathed once more in the meagre sunshine.

It will be Advent tomorrow and time to prepare for Christmas. Right on cue, the bright red stems of the dogwood and the kale give that seasonal look.

The light will come back after the winter solstice in three weeks but we already have a portent of spring in an early flowering hellebore.

So have a Happy Christmas and keep well while I write a few blistering chapters of my new book.

Before the clocks went back and the days got so short, a couple of jobs that have been on the ‘to do’ list forever got done. The pizza oven got painted. It now looks very smart and quite mediterranean. But its renovation gave rise to a heartsink moment when the guys asked where the chimney was? Chimney? It’s never had one, which, they explained, is why everything cooked in this contraption is burnt to a cinder. So that newly painted lovely dome is about to be drilled to accommodate a chimney.

Our cherished olive tree has enjoyed its spot over in the west garden rather too much. It is now over 30 feet tall and top heavy. It was a retirement gift from the Academy for Healthcare Science ten years ago when the garden was first planted. The decision to pollard part of it was another heartsink moment when the electric saw sliced off one of its arms. It has taken a few weeks, but new sprouts have emerged to everyone’s relief.

The big clear out had just started as the first storm of the season, Ashley, blasted in. Drenching rain and gale force winds lifted piles of debris and tossed them all over the place. It has left a right soggy mess which has to be gathered into the recycling bins when there is a break in the weather. But now and then, we still get a clear day, although cold and windy, where the medieval chapel at the tip of the western end of the bay can be seen. And there is still a show of muted pinks and autumnal reds to brighten the day.

The summer’s luxuriant growth will stand us in good stead for next year. Items on the spring watch list are the agapanthuses down in the secret garden and the wild rose hedges lining the lane down to the beach.

And of the book? I’ve had some critical feedback which has left me crestfallen. But I’ll start again soon and fire up a spikier version to see if it has sufficient ‘hook’, ‘propulsion’ and ‘tension’ to satisfy the TikTok generation who want everything on the first couple of pages. Middlemarch and Our Mutual Friend would have had no chance.

Comeback next month for news of the autumnal clear-out and the book.

We got our ‘Indian Summer’ – ten warm bright sunny days to remember before the storm season arrives. The light is shallower now, and the days are cooler but still warm enough to sit out and do some writing. My new book is taking shape with a sharper focus on the power barons and their plotting to accrete more resources.

And the veggies keep coming. From just one cucumber plant, we have cropped plenty of fat stubby fruits and the carrots have got going to give a bumper harvest. I have learnt a lot about pickling in these dog days of summer. And the chardonnay grape vine has got some fruit at long last, but those green pearls are as sharp as they look. Might do better next year as I have bought a book of instructions for winemakers.

We have now passed the autumnal equinox, and the clocks will return to wintertime soon. It can be a melancholy time like the fading of the cherry blossom in the Japanese springtime, ‘mono no aware’, so let’s enjoy the end of summer show of pink anemones and ruby sedums, and the vibrant red lilies and orange pokers.  

Come back next month for news of the autumnal clear-out and the book about medical gang warfare at ‘Angies’.

There have been fabulous sightings of natural phenomena this month – the aurora borealis, the Perseid meteor showers, and the super moon- but we missed the lot because of fog. Yes, days on end of it, rolling in from the sea and up over the cliffs shrouding everything in damp candy floss for days. 

And then the sun came back, burned off the peasouper so we could feel its warmth and see the chapel on the peninsular once again.  

And the veggies have gone crackers in these warm humid days, broken by intense rain and then burning sunshine. Harvesting chard, courgettes, beetroot, spinach, cucumbers and beans has been fun but I have learnt that it is followed by much hard work preparing the soups, ratatouille and casseroles for the freezer, and the pickles for the store cupboard. The comforting thought is all that goodness will make for healthy bones, guts and teeth.  

Sadly, the summer garden is coming to its end as the season turns back to shorter days and chillier evenings. So, it’s one more time to enjoy the rosa ragusa’s dense musky perfume and its glorious ruby red hips; walking the beach and the cliff tops in the early evening while looking out for dolphins and seals that have been sighted further down the coast; and appreciating nature’s muted pink palette and the magnificent white and blue agapanthuses that grow wild in these parts.  

With all the closed-in weather, I have been working on the characters for my new book. As I recall the gangs of medics at war, I find myself back in those wild west days dominated by individuals with the ‘God complex’ as they fought for their turf. The memories are still vivid so when it is all too much, a stroll in the garden fixes things.  

And of Louisa’s Lament? I have been working on a screenplay, ever hopeful of the book becoming a movie in the style of the recently launched Veuve Clicquot. Check it out. 

Comeback next month for news of the turning season and maybe of an Indian Summer…. 

Been busy doing almost nothing, just watching the sea roll in and out of the bay while Peter the lobster man sinks his pots and marker buoys, and an eagle-eyed gull waits patiently for a share of his catch. Given the changing weather pattern, it is good to just enjoy the fine sunny days when they arrive.

This time of year, everything takes care of itself mostly, especially the muddle of self-seeded plants making for lazy days in the sunshine. Grateful to the bright scarlet salt-hardy fuchsias, and the ubiquitous daisy-like erigerons and blue agapanthuses that grow wild in these parts, for not wanting much attention.

On such days, energetic types get in their RHIBs and blast themselves round the bay over to the Rame peninsula’s lovely beach and medieval chapel atop it. Makes you tired just watching it all.

And as for progress with my next book, the garden room awaits its writer who has been busy watching the world go by while thinking about the characters and scene sets. Work starts soon(ish).

Come back next month for a progress report on this and the big veggie harvesting.

Nothing like a warm June evening for a walk along the beach after the visitors have gone. I never cease to wonder at the cleansing power of the six-hourly rhythm of the tide to refresh all. Further landslips arising from the winter’s storms will add to this rock pile soon, creating more coves as the coastline is resculpted before our eyes.

After much hard work, often in grim wet conditions, the new wall of local stone with its subtle hues of honey, greys and blues, is now finished.  The winter’s rain has resulted in an abundance of glorious roses like the prolific pink carpet roses which have already grown into the space, boisterously spilling over to reach for the new shingle path.

And there is much more; June’s first blooms include my favourite carmine red climbing rose, a laid-back apricot rose shrub rose, and a muddle of barbie pink and white roses that hug the oversized and now misshapen Buxus ‘ball’.

And delicate self-seeded poppies just grow in any old place.

Over in the west end garden, the new veggie planters have been filled with compost and seeds. The first crop of chard, beets, radishes, and courgettes is ready. Next will come the beans, lettuces, spinach, carrots, spuds and outdoor tomatoes. And next month, we will sow the onion, parsnip and pepper seeds. Having finished the marathon read of Middlemarch, cultivating veggies is now my obsession.

The long miserable winter’s blasting storms are a distant memory as we now have so much to enjoy. All that rain is now invested in the flourishing greens and self-seeded plants that line the lower garden path and the steps down to the house.

I promise to do some book work next month! Come back in four weeks to check progress on gang warfare at Angie’s – a block buster in the vein of the Godfather.

Forget the Chelsea Flower Show, it’s all happening here in the Cornwall garden. The sun has returned and the repairs to the storm-damaged walls and paths have been completed

And we have had a special visitor to inspect the works while newly self-seeded plants have popped up everywhere.

Old favourites, Rosa and Wisty, have burst into life now that the storms have abated, and their delicate fragrances concentrate by the late afternoon .

But it’s all go in the bay where the gulls hassle the local fisherman as he catches the key ingredient for our local pub’s magnificent fish pie.

Come back next time for more news of the book’s progress and have a look at what the RCN has to say about Louisa’s Lament:

https://www.rcn.org.uk/news-and-events/Blogs/louisas-lament-where-history-meets-fiction

Relief! It’s stopped raining and it has been pleasant enough to walk out in the evening to enjoy the last of the soft light warming the bay. But much inclement weather has damaged the cliffs and worryingly, landslips are evident everywhere.

And spring has sprung. Up early are the arum lilies. Who would have thought that these statuesque flowers would emerge from the piles of  mush that they were in the terraces only a few weeks ago.

Sweeps of clematis montana are out and about showing the still bare apple tree how to blossom while the ubiquitous rosemary waterfalls are still tumbling over the front terraces.

Sadly all the lavenders have died on lavender hill as the weather has been too harsh. Before the erigerons take over, we are going to try planting more agapanthuses. They are tough enough to stand the salt blasting on this exposed site.

But for now, it’s enough to just enjoy the evening light and sound of calm waters.

Not much writing work on the book this month but some research and contemplation so…

…come back next month for news of gang warfare at Angies.

March winds! Storm force, constantly barrelling in and dumping biblical amounts of rain soaking everything and everyone. There is no place to hide, you just need to get indoors. Fast.

I was planting the new honeysuckles and poppies in the sun when I noticed the signs of the storm coming. It starts with a stiff cold breeze, then the sky darkens and you see the white caps picking up on the water. That’s when you drop everything and run.

It takes moments to go from rough waters in the bay to broiling, highly energised sea that is unforgiving as it throws everything at you.

All that salt-blasting and water is very corrosive but some plants love the stuff. The rosemary waterfalls and hellebores in the front terraces guzzle it up.

We are still repairing last season’s storm damage and building new terraces over in the garden’s west end. Despite the inclement weather, Jason and Lazlo have been converting rather unpromising sand, cement and stone into beautiful walls, new paths and steps.

While watching the storm from indoors, a strange bird flew by…..

Come back next time to see the spring planting, and get news of my next book about gang warfare at a big teaching hospital.